


Genius Loci

by kelly_chambliss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Community: hoggywartyxmas, Gen, POV Multiple, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelly_chambliss/pseuds/kelly_chambliss
Summary: Deep in the Forbidden Forest stands a circle of pines.  In the center lies a clearing, and the center of the center holds the Genius of the Place.Written for Hoggywartyxmas, 2019.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Genius Loci

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delphi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/gifts).



*~*~*~*~*

On the very farthest edge of the Forbidden Forest stands a circle of pines, taller than tall, with branches spreading wider than wide, the air around them steeped in the scents of earth and age and mystery.

In the center lies a clearing, needle-pillowed, silent, still. Even the forest creatures forbear to enter this glade, so deeply do they feel and regard its magic -- magic older than old. Deeper than deep. 

It was this magic, though they knew it not, that drew the Founders of Hogwarts to plant the seeds of their school in the windswept wild north. 

The center of the center holds the Genius of the place, a single Hogwarts-hallowed soul that, upon the passing of its human host, decides to pause its journey by inhabiting the sacred grove. Each guardian stays as long as it will and then moves on, to be followed by another and then another, millennia of genii.

And sometimes the Yuletide finds the Genius bearing gifts.

*~*~*~*~*

Sleigh bells rang through the sharp December air, accompanied by a voice powerful enough to shake the snow from the trees.

"'Here we come a-wassailing, among the summat summat,'" it warbled. "'Here we come a-wand'ring, summat Yuletide summat. Love an' mead come ter yeh'. . .no, that in't right. . .er. . .'Love and wine come ter yeh, an' wine for yer New Year too, and yer beer made o' best bar-leeeeeeee.'"

Hagrid's ramblings rarely brought him into so remote a part of the forest, but for this first Christmas after the war, he was determined to find the straightest, grandest trees ever to stand in the Great Hall. Headmistress McGonagall was doing her best to rebuild morale an' all, and get all the Houses and staff to pull together, like, but the long an' short of it was, they all needed a proper celebration. A Christmas celebration.

Albus Dumbledore, rest his great soul, had loved the Yule season; he'd knowed how it made folks feel goodwill toward their fellows. He'd knowed yeh could accomplish things at Christmas that wouldn't have gone nowhere at other times of the year. Well, o' course he knowed it. Stood to reason, brain like his. 

And what was good for Dumbledore was bound to be good for everybody else. So if the Headmistress wanted unity, no better time to create it than at the Yuletide. They'd start with the most glorious display o' Christmas trees that Hagrid an' Professor Flitwick could manage: a shining, shimmering riot o' colour and light, summat for everyone to feast their eyes an' spirits on. 

So he'd got out his biggest sledge, coated the runners in his homemade beeswax, summoned his favorite thestral to pull it, and now he here was, crunching through the frost and studying the pines and firs for tall specimens the forest could best spare. He'd told the Headmistress not to expect him for dinner; he'd camp here if he had to, but he wasn't going back to the castle without at least four o' the best trees the woods had to offer. 

Hagrid stopped, laying a gentle hand on the thestral's flank to halt it while he scanned the snow-covered hills. That tall copse just at the next ridge. . .happen it could do with some thinning.

"Merlin bless yeh an' send yeh a bowl o' rum punch," he sang as he started off again. He wasn't quite sure of the words, but it was summat like that. A fair lot o' drinking they seemed to do in the old days, to judge from the carols. 

"Merlin send yeh a bowl o' rum punch."

*~*~*~*~*

In the heart of the ancient clearing, the Genius heard, woke, and listened.

In his physical life, Apollyon Pringle had been the Hogwarts caretaker. In his spirit life, he took care of the castle still. 

He'd been surprised, at his passing, to find that he didn't want to move on from Hogwarts, for he'd had more than enough of floor-mopping and armour-polishing, not to mention the endless task of disciplining wayward adolescents. Throughout his long tenure, he'd given the school his best, and when the time had come to stop working, he's closed that door with the satisfaction of a job well done.

He'd reveled in his retirement, his Hogwarts duties safely left in the capable hands of young Argus Filch, with whom Apollyon enjoyed sharing the occasional pint and bit of advice during pleasant evenings at the Hog's Head. 

He had not feared death, but when it came at last, he'd realised that his job was not yet completed after all. He had more of his best yet to give. 

Thus his spirit had settled, quiescent and content, into the eternal grove. When the Castle had need of him, she found a way to call. Just like now.

And he always answered. Even if he wasn't quite sure what it was he had to do.

*~*~*~*~*

"That were easier than I thought, Pollux," remarked Hagrid to the thestral as they headed back to Hogwarts, the sledge piled high with lush pines. "Seemed like that whole stand just showed up outa nowhere, half of 'em fair perfect fer thinnin'. And straight -- I never seen a band o' trees like this for straightness."

Pollux nickered softly and then raised his voice in the high bird-like cry common to his kind. If he felt the presence of the soul of Apollyon Pringle, now wearing the invisible form of his physical body and riding on high on the boughs of the biggest felled tree, he didn't communicate this fact to Hagrid.

So it was that Apollyon rode up to the great oak doors of Hogwarts in style. He knew, in the way that the Genius of the sacred grove knew all that affected the school, that the Castle had sustained heavy damage in the war; his spirit had felt it like an actual wound. 

But now he could tell that the repairs were well in hand. He'd been enough of a carpenter to know quality work when he saw it. The doors hung perfectly balanced, their magic moving soundlessly to open them as Hagrid's sledge approached.

With a rush of affection, Apollyon watched as Filius Flitwick hurried down the steps.

"Excellent, Hagrid!" the little man called. "I didn't dare hope you'd be back so early. I can get started on the decorating tonight."

Hagrid nodded vigorously. "I'll have 'em set up in no time, Professor. Were amazing how quick I found 'em, just standin' there in the snow like they was waiting for me."

As they had been, of course; Apollyon had seen to it. He allowed himself to be borne into the Great Hall astride the first tree as Hagrid carried it, and only after he had let the feeling of homecoming seep into him did he set about to discover the purpose of his visit.

What did the Castle want him to do?

Before the though finished forming, he found himself in the staff room, gazing down at black-haired, sharp-featured Minerva McGonagall, who seemed only slightly older than in the days when he's still been caretaker, and she'd taken him to task about his "overly-severe" punishments of misbehaving students. 

It was true; at one time he'd believed that the language of pain was an effective teaching tool -- one of the many misconceptions of his previous life. In this new life, he took a broader view.

" -- thinking of stopping the Hogsmeade evenings next term," McGonagall was saying to a sleepy-looking Poppy Pomfrey. Apollyon always thought of Poppy as a newcomer, since she'd joined the staff only a few years before his retirement. But she was one of the veterans now. He liked her; she was smart and suffered no fools.

"I don't think the pub evenings were a bad idea, but I believe they've run their course," continued the headmistress. "Time for something fresh."

Apollyon understood without explanation: during the autumn term, McGonagall had asked all the Hogwarts staff to meet for a drink once a week at the Three Broomsticks. Her plan had been to get everyone away from their work and their Houses so they could reconnect as friends, not warriors. And be seen doing it. The Castle had approved.

"You may be right," Poppy said, yawning. "Still, I think the pub trips have done a lot of good. Everyone seems to enjoy themselves. Even Severus."

"Oh, Severus's reluctance is just for show," McGonagall replied. "Well, mostly. He'll never be really outgoing. But he's become more sociable than I ever expected. Do you know, he sometimes actually stops in at the Hogs Head by himself?"

This news was surprising enough to cause Poppy to sit up straight in her chair. "Seriously? Severus, choosing to socialise of his own accord?"

"Well," said McGonagall wryly, "if you can call drinking in the Hogs Head 'socialising.' Aberforth would be offended at the very idea that such a thing might happen in his bar. But yes, I've seen Severus going in there several times now."

"Maybe he and Aberforth are friends," said Poppy.

"Maybe. It could be very useful if so."

"Minerva?" Poppy cocked her head and narrowed a suspicious eye at the headmistress. "Are you plotting something?"

"I don't know what you mean," said McGonagall with dignity. "I merely want to be sure that Hogwarts is on good terms with all the local merchants."

"Hmph," said Poppy, clearly not convinced by this performance (as Apollyon knew she shouldn't be. McGonagall did indeed have something up her tartan sleeve). "Well, good for Severus, if he's made a friend," Poppy went on. "I worry about him. He's recovering well, physically, but he still has a long way to go."

"He's tired," said McGonagall. "We all are."

"Definitely," Poppy agreed, with another yawn. "And odd as it sounds, there's always a let-down after a war, psychologically speaking. Oh, everyone is thrilled it's over, of course, Severus no doubt more than most. But one does lose that sense of purpose."

"True enough. For a while, we had the rebuilding project to sustain us, but now -- "

"It's nearly done," Poppy finished. "I'll tell you what everyone needs, Minerva. Some good old-fashioned romance."

Apollyon felt a smile cross his invisible face. Poppy had always championed romance. Truth be told, in his previous life, he'd found her faith in love to be a little naïve. He was more tolerant now.

"I mean it," she insisted, as McGonagall raised a sceptical eyebrow. "I think a lot of people at Hogwarts are lonely. It's been getting worse since the war ended, Min, you know it has. A certain amount of personal retreat is probably healthy; we all need time to heal. But it can go too far. I mean, Irma spends more time in the library than ever, if that's possible. Aurora barely leaves the Astronomy Tower, Argus goes whole days without speaking to a soul, and Sybill has simply disappeared."

"Well, we hardly ever saw Sybill at the best of times," McGonagall pointed out, "and Aurora has always preferred stars to people. Still, Poppy, I can't believe that the solution is to have more sex."

Poppy burst out laughing, and Apollyon saw again the mischievous young woman she'd been thirty years ago. "I said romance, not sex, though I don't see why we can't have both." She lifted her palms in appeal. "It doesn't even have to be romance. Or people. Just companionship. A pet, even. Like Argus, poor man." 

McGonagall sighed. "I can't say I ever took to Mrs Norris, but it's a pity that she's gone into a decline now, of all times -- after this horrendous last year, and at the Yuletide. Is she going to mend?"

Poppy shook her head sorrowfully. "I'm afraid not. Wilhelmina examined her today and says it's just a matter of time. Old age, you know. Inevitable for cats and everyone else. That's why we need to find more ways to bring people together. We all need more connection than just a drink on Friday nights or a chat with our neighbor at the high table."

"Not everyone does want companionship, Poppy. Some people genuinely want to be left alone."

"Yes, I know," said Poppy, getting her feet slowly. "But other people would really like a friend or lover and just can't figure out how to get there. I wish there was something we could do for them."

One time -- just one -- in his earthly life, Apollyon Pringle had experienced the rush of confidence and joy that came from taking Felix Felicis. He'd won the potion on a bet from Aberforth Dumbledore, of all people, and he'd never known a sensation as wonderful as he'd got from drinking liquid luck. 

He'd felt like he could touch the edges of the universe, like he could roll the whole thing into a ball and put it in his pocket.

That's how he felt now, listening to Poppy Pomfrey.

For he knew now why the Castle had summoned him. He knew what needed to be done.

*~*~*~*~*

A sharp-eyed watcher (if one had been standing on the track to Hogsmeade the following evening) might have glimpsed a bright sparkle of light against the darkness of the Highland winter night.

They might have felt a wisp of warmth against their face where there should have been nothing but the tingle of icy December air. They might have experienced a touch of that peace on earth and good will toward their fellows that was the trademark of the season.

But no such watcher was present to note these tell-tale signs that the Genius of Hogwarts was abroad. There was only the deep, expectant hush of the woods and a smooth pathway that awaited the start of a journey.

*~*~*~*~*

"Aurora! Oy, Aurora! Wait for me!"

The voice belonged to Pomona Sprout. Aurora Sinistra, strolling towards Hogsmeade, stopped and turned. As always, she felt her breath catch a little at the sight of Pomona's warmly-smiling face and halo of wayward fluffy hair, and she watched happily as her colleague hurried down the hill, one hand clamped to her hat and the other pushing curls out of her eyes.

"Hat lost its stay-on charm in that last gust of wind," Pomona panted once she arrived, "and I was just that rushed I didn't want to stop and fix it. I don't know why it is, but I just can't seem to pull myself together enough to be on time on Friday nights." 

Pressing her hand to her lovely chest, she took several deep gulps of air before flicking her wand to replace her hat charm. "All right, well, I can breathe again, so we'd best be off. We're late."

Aurora hid a smile as they started walking. For Pomona, "pulling herself together" was a constant and mostly futile endeavour. . .unless lives or the future of Hogwarts depended on her. Then she had few peers who were any more "together" than she.

"I don't believe that the headmistress really expects us to arrive at eight o'clock on the dot," Aurora said reassuringly. "This is supposed to be an exercise in collegiality. You know, for fun."

Truth be told, Aurora would have found it more fun to spend the time with her telescope and her star charts. By the end of the work week, her introverted self needed solitude. 

She stole a glance at her companion. Well, maybe not total solitude. Just less of a crowd. _Much_ less. A quiet evening spent in the company of someone like Pomona, the anchoring earth to Aurora's star-lit air -- now _that_ would have been much better than a night on the town.

But the headmistress was doing her heroic best to restore and reform Hogwarts in these difficult post-war days; the least her staff could do was support her. So every Friday evening, to the Three Broomsticks Aurora went.

"These pub evenings _are_ fun, I won't deny that," Pomona said, like the charming extrovert she was. "A drink or two with friends is just what we need after a hard week. But of course Minerva wants it to be more than that -- we can't just talk about inter-house cooperation; we have to model it and let the public see us."

"Yes, I know," Aurora replied, rather shortly. She'd heard that speech before. Many times, and she didn't want to waste this intimate walk on more talk about "inter-house cooperation."

Pomona laughed ruefully and patted Aurora's arm, sending a thrill through Aurora's frame that quite erased her momentary impatience. "There, I didn't mean to lecture, my dear," she apologised. "I know you know. And I also know a night in a pub is not everyone's cup of tea -- or dram of Ogden's, I suppose I should say."

"Well, I can think of worse ways to challenge House bigotry than having some good ale in front of a cosy fire," Aurora said, hoping that Pomona would take the hint and suggest that perhaps the two of them should have such an evening themselves soon. She so wanted to get to know Pomona better.

But they'd reached the Three Broomsticks, and the moment was lost. 

Pomona pulled open the door, and Aurora was hit with a blast of chatter and warmth. The Hogwarts table occupied the center of the main room; every week, Rosmerta the landlady enshrined its prominence with a reservation spell that it impossible for anyone but Hogwarts staff to sit down. 

Aurora spotted two open chairs at the far end and made for them. She preferred to sit in the last seat so as not to have to talk to people on both sides. Now if only Pomona would sit next to her. . .

She did, her warm proximity making Aurora a little dizzy, so that it was a few moments before she could take in the general conversation.

"I say again, Minerva," Severus Snape was proclaiming from his seat next to the headmistress, "it's a matter of justice. You want us to play at Happy Families every week and are willing to bribe us with a drink apiece on the Hogwarts tab. So far, so fair. But if you expect more -- smiles, chitchat, inane pleasantries -- then you should be willing to pay more. Simple economics. A second drink at the very least."

Aurora shook her head in amazement. Snape had been left for dead after the Battle, he had barely survived both Voldemort's snake bite and the ensuing Wizengamot inquiry, and he still looked like death on a stick. . .but he'd not lost a bit of his sneer.

In the pre-war days, Professor McGonagall would have snarked right back at him; Aurora used to enjoy eavesdropping on Pomona and Charity Burbage, who'd had a running bet on which of the two of them, Snape or McGonagall, would A) lose their temper first, and B) get in the wittiest dig. Usually there was a direct causal connection between one's B and the other's subsequent A.

But Professor McGonagall was Headmistress McGonagall now, and apparently had weightier issues on her plate than truculent subordinates. These days, she mostly treated Snape's jibes with amused tolerance.

"Professor Snape," she said, "you're welcome to reward your 'chitchat and inane pleasantries' with as much drink as you like. But the Hogwarts PR budget will continue to cover only your showing up."

Just at that moment, Rosmerta delivered Aurora's usual lager-and-lime and set something green and potent-looking in front of Pomona, whose eyes began to dance quite attractively as she whispered to Aurora, "Watch this." 

"Severus," Pomona called, "you remind me of the whining vermosa plant; whenever it starts to complain, I know it needs more liquid. So here; have an absinthe cocktail on me." With a wave of her wand, she sent her drink floating down the table to hover in front of Snape.

He took a cautious sip and gave Pomona his patented Snapian side-eye. "Packs quite a punch," he drawled. "And does this absinthe cocktail have a name?"

Pomona pretended to think. "I believe," she said slowly, "that it's called a 'Corpse Reviver.'"

Aurora nearly spit out her mouthful of lager, and she heard Irma Pince gasp. The whole table turned to stare at the literal revived corpse that was Severus Snape, waiting for him to hex the lot of them or at least to storm out of the pub, robes billowing.

What he did instead was almost as disturbing: his mouth twisted, and for the first time in her memory, Aurora heard Snape laugh. Or at least, that's what she thought he was doing, though he could just as easily have been choking -- his strangled snort might have passed for either.

But no -- he was actually laughing. The headmistress joined in, then Hooch snickered, and Hagrid added guffaws that shook the rafters. Once Pomona started her hearty chuckle, Aurora couldn't resist, either, and soon the entire staff was roaring with laughter while everyone else in the pub watched them, smiles creeping over their faces, too.

Eventually they all quieted down, wiped their eyes, and started to chatter again, while Headmistress McGonagall caught Pomona's eye and lifted her glass slightly in a toast of appreciation.

Pomona beamed at Aurora. "That went well, don't you think?"

"What do you. . .oh!" Aurora suddenly understood. "I take it you were -- what was that you said earlier? -- offering the public a 'model of inter-house cooperation'?"

"Well, it was a start, anyway," said Pomona modestly. "Humour helps. I always feel braver when I can laugh, don't you?"

Did she? "Do I feel brave?" Aurora wondered. Then out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a flash of sparkly light; a warm breath of air seemed to caress her cheek. She had a sudden vision of stars spread out across the universe and felt as if she could somehow scoop them all up into her cloak. She felt as if she could do anything.

"Pomona?" she said. "Would you like to come to my rooms tomorrow night? For some mulled wine and. . .talk?"

Pomona caught her hand and squeezed. "Yes. Yes, I would like that very much."

*~*~*~*~*

Perfect. Just bloody perfect.

Severus Snape was stalking along the path to Hogsmeade, muttering to himself as he tried to muster up some genuine anger. Anger was easier than. . .other things he might be feeling.

Anger was surely warranted. Fifteen years he'd spent as a spy and fucking errand boy, risking his life daily among Death Eaters with Unforgivables and dunderhead students with potions cauldrons, enduring endless indignities of mind and body while he did his bit to help defeat evil, all so that he could survive to become. . .

A fucking errand boy.

Just two days after his most recent enforced servitude at the Three Broomsticks, Severus had been summoned to Minerva's rooms to receive yet another heinous assignment.

It was, indeed, perfect in its own bad-karmic way. Whom the gods would destroy, they first made mad. Or at least, first made to teach at Hogwarts with Martinet McGonagall as headmistress.

Severus scowled. For the first time in long memory, he was not succeeding at convincing himself he was badly-done-by. Yet by all rights, he should be fuming. As if being made to socialise every week at the Three Broomsticks wasn't enough, now he was being despatched to do the headmistress's bidding at the Hogs Head. 

Of course, he had to admit that as errand-boy gigs went, being given a good reason to spend time with Ab Dumbledore -- and doing it on Hogwarts's knut -- was hardly the worst assignment he'd ever had.

And when it came to the handing-out of said assignments, he much preferred Minerva's method to Voldemort's. As he could admit (though only to himself), a relaxing evening of intelligent conversation and biting wit, washed down with twenty-five-year-old Ogden's from the headmistress's private store, was definitely better than an order barked at the end of a Cruciatus. Not that he'd ever tell Minerva so, of course.

"I'm sorry to impose on your free time, Severus," she had said when he'd met with her the previous evening. "But the first anniversary of the Battle will be here before we know it, and we can't really move forward on the exhibit for Albus until we know what materials Aberforth has. . .and what we can persuade him to lend us."

They'd been sitting, second glasses of Ogden's in hand, near the fire in her comfortable living room. The first glass had been drunk while Minerva had outlined her plans to continue post-war reforms with a supplement to the upcoming war memorials: a "balanced" exhibit about the life of Albus Dumbledore. "We'll show the wizarding world that we are serious about preserving as honest a history as we can," she'd said. "We'll acknowledge Albus's sacrifice and heroism without covering up his flaws."

Aberforth's cooperation was necessary, she explained, because he had a cache of Albus memorabilia -- childhood mementos and papers and youthful journals and who-knew-what. Minerva wanted items for display. . .and also wanted Ab to donate the lot to the Hogwarts archives, "so we can preserve history. We will have to persuade him how important it is."

By "we," Minerva turned out to mean "Severus." Of course she did. Of course. Of fucking course.

She knew, obviously, that Aberforth was no easy nut to crack. "Persuading" him to do anything was a challenge, and when the persuasion involved Albus, the difficulty increased exponentially. 

Still, if Ab was prickly and contrary in his behavior, he was never so in terms of character. As a man, he was rock-solid and dependable. . . honourable and straightforward and truthful. After what he'd been through the last twenty years, Severus appreciated these qualities more than he could ever say. 

Ab had felt like a life-line when he'd come to visit Severus in St Mungo's last summer, before the Wizengamot hearings had begun. His astringent honesty and apparent regard had been more healing than any medical potion, and Severus had come to rely on him. 

Once out of hospital, he started devising excuses to stop in the Hog's Head. He knew he ought to despise this weakness, but somehow he didn't. In fact, Severus tried not to analyse the situation at all -- didn't let himself wonder about what it meant or about what Ab might think. He just went to the Hog's Head. Then went again. And again.

And now here was Minerva, unwittingly threatening to upend this delicate balance.

On the one hand, her request could mean the chance to spend more time in Aberforth's blunt, oddly comforting company without need of any excuse.

Or it could mean that Ab would take offense, turning his back on Hogwarts -- and Severus -- forever.

It was a dilemma. Severus had looked past Minerva to stare into the fire, thinking.

All at once the flames had seemed positively to sparkle, and their heat seemed even more warming than usual. Out of nowhere, he'd felt suddenly like a man who had no residual snake venom in his system. Like a man who could, once again, take on a hostile universe and survive.

"Oh, very well," he'd said. "I'll go and talk to Aberforth. But I don't understand why, if it's so important, you don't do it yourself."

Minerva's expression had been wryly amused, reminding him of their pre-war days of banter and snark in the staff room. Given all that had happened when he'd been headmaster, their post-war relationship could be a trifle fraught, but he was gradually feeling easy again in her presence, and he thought she felt the same about him. 

"The truth is," Minerva had told him, "I am not Aberforth's favourite person."

Severus feigned astonishment, and she'd laughed. "Hard to believe, I know. Oh, he's civil enough, in his own way, and scrupulously fair about business dealings with the school, but in his mind, I think I'll always seem to him just an extension of Albus. 'You're just like all the rest of them, bamboozled by my brother,' he told me once. He'll be afraid that I'll turn this exhibit into hagiography, creating a false image of 'Saint Albus' that will never be dislodged. But of course that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid, and I'd like him to understand that."

"So you've chosen _me_ as your diplomatic, tactful representative? What in Merlin's name are you thinking?"

"Aberforth distrusts tact and diplomacy," Minerva said. "And he respects what you did all those difficult years as a double agent. He told Filius." 

She smiled, a little wickedly. "And you're both such surly pessimists, how could you fail to get on?"

"One of these days," Severus had retorted, trying to cover up the leap his spirits had taken, "you'll leave that Gryffindor la-la-land you live in and recognise that what you call 'pessimism' is just another word for 'realistic.'"

"Uh-uh-uh," she'd said, wagging a finger. "No more House slurs, remember?" 

But he could tell she'd wanted to laugh.

So now here he was, sent toddling off to beg indulgences from Dumbledore's brother. 

And feeling the sort of eagerness that he hadn't felt for years, not since he'd received his Hogwarts letter at age eleven.

At least "eagerness" was what he thought he was feeling. But it could be just gas.

The Hog's Head was nearly empty, as Severus had expected -- two-thirty on a Monday afternoon was a quiet time even in a serious drinkers' pub. Ab was prowling behind the bar as usual and gave a curt nod as Severus took a seat.

"What brings you here in the middle of the day, Snape?" he asked, setting out a dram of whisky without waiting for an order. "Decided the little bastards are unteachable and skivved off, have you?" 

"In my dreams," said Severus. He'd thought over possible opening gambits and had decided just to get to business. "I've come to talk about artefacts of the past," he began. "And what they might mean to the future."

He outlined the situation as concisely as he could. Throughout the recital, Ab remained silent, chewing on the end of a toothpick. Nor did he say anything for a few minutes after Severus finished.

"So Albus is to be enshrined in history, is he?" he said at last. "Oh, aye, I know what Minerva says about intending to tell the 'whole story,' warts and all, but that's never really possible, is it? And what about all the nameless people who made sacrifices just as great as my venerable brother's -- lost their homes, their families, their lives? Never be a memorial for them, will there? No curated displays of _their_ childhood gimcracks."

"True enough," Severus admitted. "But maybe the solution is to try to uncover some of their stories, too? Instead of just not telling any and forgetting them all?"

Ab snorted. "Oh, the world won't forget Albus, Minerva need have no fear about that. His sort always get their stories told."

Severus relaxed slightly. This was where he always felt most comfortable: debating, arguing, challenging intelligent minds. And somehow, this time, he had a sense that he knew just the right arguments to make.

"Well, then, doesn't it matter who does the telling? If _somebody_ is going to tell Albus's story, and if you don't want it to be the admiring Minerva McGonagalls of the world -- or the venal Rita Skeeters either -- then it had best be you."

Ab Vanished his toothpick and pulled a new one out of a box on the back counter.

"All right," he said. "Here's what I'll do. I haven't touched Albus's boxes in decades. But I'm willing to look through them -- just look, mind -- and see what there is to see."

Severus nodded. This was probably as good as Minerva was going to get, at least for now.

"And you're going to help me do it," Ab barked suddenly, pointing the toothpick at Severus. "If you're willing, that is."

"Oh, yes," said Severus quietly. "I'm willing."

He finished his firewhisky and stood up to leave; he was going to need to be alone to process the tide of feeling surging through him.

"Good. You'll come and have dinner with me as many nights as necessary, and we'll see if we can make any sense of Albus. If there are any items we think the world should see, I'll let Minerva use them. If not, not. That's how it's going to be -- my way or no way. You tell Minerva that."

"I will," Severus agreed, and added, "It's good of you, Ab."

"Aye, well. Don't spread it around. I've got my reputation to think of, you know -- crotchety, contrary old cuss. Reckon you'll understand that."

"Takes one to know one," said Severus, and stepped out into the street.

He was glad no one seemed to be around to see him. 

Because he was smiling.

*~*~*~*~*

Apollyon Pringle was floating invisibly in the entry of Hogwarts when Severus Snape strode through on his return from the Hog's Head. One look at the pleased set of the man's sardonic, beaked face told Apollyon that all was well.

All was well with the Castle, too. The Great Hall was magnificent, decked in boughs of holly, glittering with Hagrid's stalwart, fairy-lit Christmas trees. A sense of contentment seeped through the corridors and up the stairs.

Apollyon watched as two giggling first-years sneaked along the edge of the Hall to nick sugar mice from the laden lower branches of the Christmas trees. They looked delighted with their success, and Ab was pleased for them. These days, he wouldn't have given them detention even if he could have.

There remained only one task for him to complete this Yuletide, and it was one that he preferred to do in his near-corporeal form. He turned from the Great Hall and thought himself into his old caretaker's rooms. Argus's rooms, now.

The office was empty, but a dim light spilled from the living quarters beyond. A single candle lit the bedroom where Argus Filch sat on the floor. 

Next to an empty cat basket.

The old man stared straight ahead, motionless and silent; then after several long moments, he patted the basket with one hand and lifted the other to swipe at his streaming eyes.

Apollyon sent a wave of consolation, but he feared it was too soon to do any good; the grief for Mrs Norris would be too raw. Even as a young man, Argus had bonded with animals over people, and the ties had become stronger through the years. The wizarding world was not kind to its Squibs; Apollyon could hardly blame Argus for his low opinion of students and staff alike. He'd not been much different himself, in his corporeal days. He'd preferred to punish people rather than trust them, too.

But what, if anything, to do now?

As Argus lowered his head to his knees and began to rock slowly back and forth, wheezing with sobs, Apollyon made his decision.

Extending his spirit to link with the Castle's, he felt them flow together. Flashes of light filled his consciousness; he could see their joint energy dipping, spinning, merging, moving faster and faster, spreading beyond the Hogwarts grounds in ever-widening rings of gold, creating a net of magic. 

Finally, deep in the alleys of Hogsmeade, they found what they sought, and let their net enfold it.

The Castle and its Genius pulled the magic back slowly, back into Argus's rooms, and let the energy cool and coalesce into a black swirl that soon thickened into mass. 

Into matter. . . 

Into the stray coal-black kitten that, just moments ago, had been nosing its way into a dustbin behind the Hogs Head.

It sat still for a moment, then stretched out a sleek paw to take a tentative step forward. Then another and another, until it was nudging its tiny head under Argus's elbow.

"Wha --?" Argus straightened and gazed astonished at the kitten, which sat back on its haunches and widened its eyes in the gloom.

"Now see here!" Argus began hotly, as if in the middle of an argument with a human. "I don't know how you got in here, but I won't have it, see? I can't. . ."

The kitten mewed and touched its paw to Argus's arm.

"I'm not having you, you hear? Not yet, I -- "

With the lightest of leaps, a black ball of fur launched itself into the caretaker's lap, kneaded his thigh for a second, and settled down, purring.

"What the -- ?" Argus spluttered. But he dropped one finger to the little head and stroked it gently. 

When he spoke next, his voice was a croon. "Well, you're a one, aren't you? Who are you then, little one, eh? Who are you?"

A name came to Apollyon, and he thought it in Argus's direction.

"Mrs Danvers? Oh, aye. Mrs Danvers. Well, I reckon you're going to need some milk or summat, aren't you?"

Cupping the cat in his hand, Argus gave a rheumatic groan or two and got to his feet. "Come along, then, Mrs D. Let's find you some food."

Apollyon let himself fade from the room. 

His Yuletide work was done.

*~*~*~*~*

On the very farthest edge of the Forbidden Forest stands a circle of pines, taller than tall, with branches spreading wider than wide, the air around them steeped in the scents of earth and age and mystery.

In the center lies a clearing, needle-pillowed, silent, still. 

The center of the center holds the Genius of the place, a single Hogwarts-hallowed soul, a gift-giver marked by magic older than old.

Deeper than deep.


End file.
